


Cookies and Cats

by robberreynard



Category: Fallout 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5393033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robberreynard/pseuds/robberreynard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two things Tramp likes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cookies and Cats

“He's a literal pussy magnet,” Hancock muttered in astonishment.

Tramp just grinned with a pleased, throaty chuckle. Seven cats of varying color and size roamed over and around him. They played with the straps of his suspenders, lounged on the ground beside him, sprawled their limber bodies over his shoulder, and wandered about Sanctuary like they owned the place.

“Who's a lible wubzy bubzy,” he blabbered nonsensically in a language he and apparently the many cats he hoarded understood. He nuzzled his cheek against one of them, winning a lazy purr of affection.

“Is there any particular reason we're infested with cats?” Hancock hooked his boot under one's belly and lifted it carefully off the ground. It reacted as if it had no strong preference either way.

“I think a family of them were living in the Johnson's old place.”

“Yes, well, it occurred to me some time after you and the missus left that no one was around to feed poor little Wiggles down the street.” Codsworth shook the last few morsels of dry cat food into a bowl. Some abandoned Tramp to eat, while the one hanging from Hancock's boot just stared. “Mrs Johnson and her husband had locked Wiggles in the cellar, I assume under the impression they would return for their belongings, and the dear thing was skin and bones when I found him. I took the occasional break from tidying up this place to tend to him.”

“So these are the great-great-great grandchildren of that ornery tomcat?” Tramp spoke through the mouthful of fur smothering him.

“Mr Wiggles and Madame Socks, if I'm not mistaken. I believe the family tree goes something like Wiggles and Socks, Dom, Church, Tom, Ricardo and Alexis, Alexis and Dom had a litter of their own-”

“You named generations of cats over the course of two hundred years?”

Codsworth paused at Hancock's question.

“More like two hundred ears, aha! You know. Like... cat...” Another pause. “It got ...very lonely.”

“I always loved cats,” Tramp cut in, rolling onto his side with one tucked in his arms.

“That's pretty obvious.”

“Lana was allergic. I mean, sneezing constantly, eyes puffed so bad she could hardly see allergic. First time I brought her to my parent's place it nearly killed her. Mom was the definition of a crazy cat lady.” He laughed at the joke only he knew. “When she heard I couldn't have cats in the house, I thought the heartbreak was going to kill her. Harped on me for days. She didn't even stop at the wedding, I swear we've got her on holotape griping at me about picking the wrong girl. Only really admitted to liking Lana when she was near the end. Said all she wanted were her chocolate chip cookies.”

“Mum did make the best cookies. I assume, it's not as if I have ever possessed taste buds. The neighbors certainly seemed to like them.”

“The Johnsons always wanted a batch for any holiday.” Tramp's fingers slid through thick, soft fur. His eyes drifted close, lulled by the melody of a half a dozen felines making vibrant sounds around him. “Man. I could really go for some cookies...”

Hancock pulled the one off his boot and took a seat on the edge of the bed. Most of the nerve endings in his skin were either dead or too raw to handle most sensations, but as he ran a leathery hand across the cat's back, he couldn't deny there was something soothing about the way it's chest hummed, grateful for the contact.

By morning the clowder had not dispersed. Tramp was fast asleep on the floor, cradling one in his arms while three others curled up against his stomach, his back, the bend of his knees. Hancock had drifted off not soon after, his new friend tucked up under his chin.

Codsworth placed a plate of freshly baked cookies on the kitchen counter. Lumpy, misshapen things that looked nothing like the ones his mistress made, since Gum Drops made poor substitutes for chocolate chips. But of course, Lana was gone, and the last bag of chocolate chips had melted in the atomic heat.

Like everyone else in the wastes, he worked with what he had. What he had was a pack of feral cats, a plate of cookies, and after presenting both to Tramp and Hancock, he had the most pleasant breakfast he'd had in over two centuries.


End file.
